Kurtis Twist and the Den of Thieves
by Tif S
Summary: Kurtis Twist is a poor boy born in a parish workhouse. After being forced into an awful job, because of bad circumstances, Kurtis finds himself somehow on the London streets as part of a group of pickpockets. Equal parts terror and adventure await. POSSIBLE REWRITE AND REPOST PENDING.
1. Chapter 1: Circumstances

**A/N: Hey, Tif S. here. This is a fic I started after finally getting to see the movie Oliver Twist. I read the book over a year ago, and just saw the movie this weekend. This is completely experimental, and just for fun, and I hope you enjoy. R&R**

**Summary: Kurtis Twist is a poor boy born in a parish workhouse. After being forced into an awful job, because of bad circumstances, Kurtis finds himself somehow on the London streets as part of a group of pickpockets. Equal parts terror and adventure await. Pairings are undecided. Maybe some Klaine. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. Ryan Murphy does. I do not own Oliver Twist; the great Charles Dickens does. All I own is the interpretation in my head. **

**Warnings: Spoilers for Oliver Twist. Rated T for language and violence in later chapters. **

**Now without further ado, I hand things over to the narrator.**

**Chapter One: Circumstances**

All was quiet on the street, for it was midnight, and not many folks were out at this time on the English streets, well except for the occasional street rat, and a stray copper or two looking for trouble. And at this time, a woman was screaming her bloody mug off, for she had begun the arduous process of labor. A woman poked her head out.

"Come on now! Hurry up! Or are ya too ashamed to speak?" The woman opened the gate of the workhouse, her slight fingers making easy work of the locks. "Just like all the others. Come on girl!"

The young woman at the gate, stood shakily, screaming in protest as the baby kicked and pushed out. Her name was Elizabeth.

"Ahh!" Elizabeth screamed as the baby pushed its way out.

"Harder!" The elder woman commanded. Elizabeth pushed and pushed until finally a small cry could be heard. The woman rolled her eyes as she grabbed the screaming lad. "It's a boy. He'll live."

The boy wriggled, as though already knowing that this woman was not to be trusted. It is so strange how young children, even ones as young as this little brat, are such good judges of character and morality.

"Let me see him." Elizabeth said. The child was handed off brusquely. The new mother looked at her son, already feeling the sickness taking hold of her life. "You are beautiful my sweet boy. If only I had something to give you." She took the locket off her neck putting it on top of the bundle that held her sleeping son with the utmost care. "Keep this locket with you always. Perhaps it will help you find your family." Death gripped the young woman in his hands, taking her away. The older woman, Sue Sylvester, as she shall now be known, grabbed the locket.

"Oh, gold." Sue's eyes grew wide as saucers as she admired the locket. "The lad's too young to have this yet. I'll save it for when he's older." She turned to the man behind her.

"The child needs a name." He pulled a small notebook out scrolling through. "The last name… Swizzle… hmm… Twist. Kurtis Twist."

And so the lad was known as Kurtis Twist. He worked in the Parish Workhouse, as did all the poor boys whose mothers' wandered into Ms. Sylvester's sights. Now a picture hmm? Yes we must paint a picture of our young Kurtis. At this point Kurtis Twist was six years old. He was a mousy boy, overly polite with upper class manners. His hair was a light brown with lighter shades sprinkled throughout. He had eyes that went from blue to green to gray depending on the clothing he wore or the angle which someone viewed him. He preferred to be called Kurt, as Kurtis sounded stuffy, and he simply detested the sound of it.

"Twist!" An older boy in the workhouse pushed him.

"Yes?" Kurt asked.

"Ms. Sylvester wants to see ya."

Kurt simply nodded, stood and dusted himself off. _I hate this place._ Perhaps Ms. Sylvester would let him see the locket. With that thought in mind, the young boy quickened his pace until he reached the huge office.

Sue Sylvester's office was tremendously out of place in the workhouse. Unlike the rest of the workhouse it was immaculate, not a stain or speck of dust resided within. But that was how Sue liked it. She turned when she heard a small knock on the door.

"Excuse me Ma'am?" The diminutive lad stood outside the threshold.

"Come in Porcelain." The woman huffed.

"Ma'am, I want to see the locket."

"No. What did I tell you Kurtis?"

"I can have it when I'm twelve." Kurt recited.

"And?"

"Only if I'm a good boy. Please Ma'am, may I see inside?"

"You've seen it before."

"Please."

The woman relented with an eye roll. She read the address inside.

"Was she my Mother?"

" No. Your mother was a troll who popped off as soon as you were squeezed out. Now, get out of my sight. You're happy little face is making me want to barf."

The boy nodded, and left, but not completely. Unbeknownst to the woman, he remained behind, cleverly hidden from view. He saw Sue Sylvester put the key in a lock box, and place the key back around her neck. She put the box on a shelf that Kurt estimated he could reach with the aid of a single chair. As she turned back around to sit at her desk, Kurtis scooted away, and ran back to his work.

_**Six Years Later**

Six years had passed and still Kurtis Twist remained the ideal child, even when it came to meal times. Mealtimes at the workhouse were structured. Two lines were formed as each child came up as their name was called. One portion of gruel (or mush as Kurtis called it) was served to each child, and only one.

The group of lads at Kurtis' table enjoyed playing a game of sorts.

"Ok, lads, draw. Smallest straw goes up and asks for more." The oldest boy, Noah, demanded.

Every boy drew, sighing with relief as they knew their straw could not possibly be the smallest, until it came to Kurtis.

"No. I have to be good, so I can get something my mother left me."

"Well isn't that sweet?" Noah mocked. "Now draw Twist!"

"C'mon Kurtis!"

"Don't be a bloody coward!"

The slight boy stuck his hand out, not daring to look at the straw until the last second. _Cripes! _It was the smallest straw. "No."

"Well, would ya look at that chaps; Seems our young Kurtis here 'as won the prize." Noah grabbed Kurt's bowl and spoon, shoving it into the boy's hands, nearly knocking him over.

Kurt walked, each step weighing heavily on him. _Please Ma'am may I have some more? That's not too hard. _He was confident, that is until he actually reached the table. His legs started shaking, and he swallowed his throat suddenly dry.

Ms. Sylvester peeked over. "Yes?"

"Please, Ma'am, may I have some more?"

"More?" The woman asked. "You want more?"

"Please Ma'am."

"I'll give you more; you little brat!" She gripped the boy's arm roughly, leading him to the door. She marched him out, unlocked the gate, and shoved him out.

"Please! I need the locket! It's mine!"

"You ain't twelve yet." The woman growled.

"I'll be twelve tomorrow! Please Ms. Sylvester!"

Sue closed the gate, locking it. That gate jingled with finality so absolute that the boy simply fell to his knees against a wall.

Poor Kurtis Twist cried and cried, feeling lost and confused as all boys do. But we need not feel sorry for him, for he was a clever lad, despite his naivety. He remembered a box, a key, and a shelf to be reached with the aid of a lone chair. He stood, wiped his nose, and waited for nightfall.


	2. Chapter 2: Complications

**A/N: Hey, I have the second chapter finished. Wow I'm on fire! Just a quick note. As mentioned before, I have read the book as well as seen the movie, so things from both will be taken and adapted. If you have any questions, feel free to PM me about anything. **

**Disclaimer: I still do not own Glee Ryan Murphy does. I still do not own Oliver Twist, even though I have a paperback copy. That all belongs to Charles Dickens.**

**Now on with the show.**

**Chapter Two: Complications**

Now to understand the rest of this story, we need first to understand the beauty and horror that was London England at that time. The young'uns like Kurtis were divided into groups, ones that slaved at the Parish Workhouse, ones that slaved as apprentices because no one else wanted them, and ones that made a downright dirty and dishonest living. That was poor London. Poor London was seen in the eyes of the authority as a disgrace, like scum on their shoes, and the one in charge of ensuring that poor London didn't get in the way of the wealthy was one Master Carl Howell. Carl Howell was the Parish Beadle, and he wasn't afraid to let others know.

That same day that Kurtis found himself out of the workhouse, Sue Sylvester paid Carl Howell a visit.

"Well, hello there Ma'am, how may I help you?"

"Skip the pleasantries Howell. There is a boy that I want you to watch. He goes by the name of Twist."

"Ah yes, young Kurtis Twist. I presume that is of whom you speak?"

"How did you remember?"

"I remember every child I name Madam. I am in charge of them after all."

"I believe you mean that_ I_ am in charge of them." Sue said.

"Of course Madam." Carl waved a hand dismissively. "I'll keep an eye out for the lad. I shall even find a tradesman willing to take him on, for the right price of course."

And a notice was posted. It read:

**Boy available for trade work; price is five pounds!**

Shortly after that, Kurt put his plan into action. He eyed the large gate. _C'mon Kurt, don't be a bloody coward. _He ran at the gate, scaling it like a pro. He walked carefully, his footsteps not making a sound to the matron's room. Sue Sylvester was asleep, confident that the brat would no longer be her problem. How wrong she was.

Kurt crept in, gently removing the key from the matron's neck. He grabbed a chair, stepping oh so carefully. His hand reached the box, unlocking it without moving it from its place. He felt the coolness of the locket in his fingers, and he smiled as he removed it, placing it in his pocket. He then moved to the dresser removing a key ring, and crept back out. He ran back to the gate, unlocking the gate with the keys on the ring. He sprinted out, closing the gate behind him, and throwing the key ring and the matron's key over the gate. Kurt slumped against the wall, thinking out his next move, and that is where he fell asleep.

A fellow had seen the notice and approached Carl. "Sir, I would be interested in employing this boy." His name was Ken Tanaka and he was a chimney sweep.

Carl called the boy forward. He had caught the boy earlier that morning asleep against the wall.

"Please Sir; please don't make me work for him." Kurt pleaded. Tears accented his eyes, and the men on the council were sympathetic, fortunately for young Kurt.

"He will not go with this man."

Carl Howell was left a blubbering fool.

* * *

><p>"Come on now! Look sharp!" Carl Howell had dragged the boy to the shop of the undertaker. Mr. Sowerberry had taken an interest to the young lad and wished to employ him.<p>

The man was an older gentleman. He wore wire rimmed glasses, and had hair as white as snowflakes. "Is this the orphan?"

"Why yes." Carl said. "Kurtis Twist." He then went on to explain how the boy received such a moniker, as Mrs. Sowerberry walked in.

"He's small." She huffed.

"But he'll grow Madam." Carl replied.

"By _our_ food and water."

"Please be reasonable dear!" Mr. Sowerberry said.

"How can I?" She screeched. Kurt was afraid of this woman. She was scary.

"I really must be going." Carl said. "Good day all." He tipped his hat and left.

Kurt stood awkwardly at the door, as Mr. Sowerberry motioned him in. "Come on in boy."

"Santana!" Mrs. Sowerberry screeched. "Give this boy the scraps that the dog won't eat." This earned a look from her husband, not that Mrs. Sowerberry cared.

Kurt was roughly pushed to a table in the corner, and handed a plate of scraps. _At least it isn't gruel_. He dug in then, savoring each bite, grateful for the food.

"Hurry up. Into the basement with you brat." Santana barked. Kurt looked up. It had barely been three minutes, and there was still food on his plate.

"Pardon me… but…" Kurt was confused, but then he was cut off.

"Hello, so you're the new brat are ya?" This was David Karofsky; the undertaker's apprentice and a holy terror.

"Yes Sir." Kurt replied.  
>"Aw, look at 'im, so polite, hard to believe he comes outta a workhouse." Dave taunted.<p>

"Get into the basement." Santana barked. She opened the door and pushed him down the stairs.

Kurt landed hard, and pressed his knees up to his chest. Things had to get better didn't they?

* * *

><p>"Eh Workhouse! Get up!" Mr. David Karofsky banged on the basement door. In what had become their daily routine, David woke him up, where he ate his scraps in the corner, before beginning a list of mindless chores that David set up.<p>

"I'm all finished taking down the shutters Sir." Kurt said.

"Well, what're you waitin' for? Put 'em back up."

"But you just asked me to…"

David stood, advancing towards Kurt, fists clenched at his sides. Kurt ran and started putting the shutters back up. And this is how it was for a long while, until Mr. Sowerberry talked to his wife one evening.

"The boy has such a melancholy expression. He'd be a perfect mite for funerals."

"You can't mean adult funerals dear." Mrs. Sowerberry said.

"Of course not; but the children's'. The boy needs to do something m'dear. He can't be well from sitting in that basement all the time."

"It matters not. " Mrs. Sowerberry whispered bitterly.

And so it was arranged. Kurt went with Mr. Sowerberry, attending the children's funerals. Kurt watched as the proceedings went on, and found he quite liked Mr. Sowerberry, and the routine of it all. He liked feeling useful.

"Oi, Kurtis is it?" David stood, waiting for Kurt to finish his meal. He didn't like that Kurt had gotten chosen to go with Sowerberry, and he had a trick up his sleeve.

"You're just asking now Sir?"

"Don't push it Workhouse… er… Kurtis. So your mum must be missing you?"

"She died." The boy replied, confused as ever.

"That's good. Your mum was a tramp. She deserved all she got." Dave smirked as the boy's face reddened. He jumped out of the chair and attacked.

Santana ran in then, and in seeing all that was going on, knew that Dave had put his plan into action. "Oh! Mr. Sowerberry, Mrs. Sowerberry! Help!" Kurt had pushed Dave to the ground and was punching his face with as much strength as he could muster.

"Don't talk about my mother that way!"

The Sowerberrys and Santana were separating the two boys, David sobbing into her shoulder. "He just attacked me for no reason at all." There was a bleeding scratch along his left eye.

"Dave, find the beadle." Mrs. Sowerberry said. She shoved a raging Kurt into the basement.

* * *

><p>David ran calling out, and forcing tears to fall. "Mr. Howell! Mr. Howell! Help us please. It's Kurtis. He's gone bloody mad he has."<p>

The beadle crouched beside the boy, all business. "What happened lad?"

"We was just mindin' our own business and Twist just started attacking us. He almost killed me."

The beadle stood, and followed the boy. He knew Twist was trouble. Lads like that always were. Lads like Twist stirred up trouble just for attention's sake, not caring what they did.

"Let me out! Let me out of here!" Kurt banged on the door, hoping somebody would hear, as he listened to the conversation outside the door.

"It's the meat Madam. If you wouldn't have taken him off gruel this would have never happened. Mark my words."

_Absurd!_ Kurt thought. _Nothing to do with the meat. He insulted my mum. _Kurt continued banging on the door . Sowerberry opened the door, and Kurt nearly burst out in a rage.

"Do something Sowerberry!" Mrs. Sowerberry yelled. David handed him the flogging post. He bent the boy over. His screams could be heard by everyone. Who chose to listen, that was another story.

**A/N: The Artful One will be introduced in the next chapter. Any guesses as to whom? Cookies if you review. *Holds out plate of cyber cookies*. Until next time readers. Tif S.**


	3. Chapter 3:Of London and Escape

**A/N: Hello readers. I'm so happy with the response this story has gotten in only two chapters. Yay! Cyber cookies for all. This is amazing. I didn't think this idea would get as much response as it did. Thank you. Chapter Three now. In this chapter, Kurt escapes to London. A quick note. Bold words will be defined at the end of this chapter as I used some of Dickens' dialect. I don't own Glee or Oliver Twist, and I think you know who does by now. Happy reading.**

**Chapter Three: Of London and Escape**

_I have to get out of here. _Kurt lay on the basement floor, shivering from the autumn chill. The basement of the Undertaker's shop, despite the shutters and curtains, still let in every bit of damp air that the English evening offered. She was a cruel mistress. "I have to get out of here." Kurt repeated the mantra. "I have to get to London." The boy had heard tales of London from Mr. Sowerberry, and older boys in the workhouse.

"Such glory and grandeur m'boy. I shall see if I can pull some strings with the missus and take ya on my next trip there."

"Thank you Sir."

And so, the need for Kurt to get to London was now even greater, but he knew Mr. Sowerberry wouldn't take him anymore. He'd have to do it on his own.

Kurt looked up at the shutter. He had been taking shutters off windows for three days, one more wouldn't kill him. "I have to wait until tonight."

And so he waited. He didn't raise suspicions, because Sowerberry was working overtime, as it was fever season, and the missus didn't give a damn. Santana no longer provided him with meals, or at least didn't address him. He had to guess when his gruel would be in the corner. _Only a few more hours. Just a few more hours._  
>Kurt had decided that he would make his escape when the moon was at its highest point, the most light for him to see by. Though he was young, Kurt knew that he was risking a lot with this endeavor. The reward, in this case however, took precedence over said risks. <em>Don't I know it?<em>

Kurt shook his head, watching the window. The moon was at the 11'oclock position when Kurt jiggled the shutter, loosening it. The boy slid it off with ease, breathing a sigh of relief. _Cripes, good thing I didn't drop it! _He swung his leg over the sill, ever so glad that he was made to stay in the basement. Less commotion was raised that way.

He dropped and began to run.

Many people in the town, upon seeing Kurtis, felt the usual curiosity. The lad was a sight. The hair under his cap stuck to his head in a sticky mess, his clothes were in tatters and his shoes were doing little to protect his feet, being completely ragged. As Kurt got closer to London, the looks lessened until they were non-existent. Now it is time for some more exposition. Bear with me. London was full of urchins, street gangs and the like, so one more child in such a condition was common. Many folks in the town looked on it as a disgrace that London was so full of street rats, but no one cared enough to do anything. Times were hard enough for them without having to worry about an odd child on the street.

"London." Kurt knew immediately when he arrived, for things were busier, much busier. Peddlers had carts for their wares, and were trying hard to sell them. Kurt grimaced as he saw an older gentleman, tackle a young man begging him to purchase something. _Well then… odd that is._ He glanced around, looking for somewhere, anywhere to sleep. He noticed a building with wide steps, a church by the looks of it. He perched himself on the third step, observing. London sure was wild. He felt his eyelids drooping, and before he knew it he was out.

At that same moment as the sun rose, a boy walked over to the food seller.

"'Ello lad, what can I do for you?" The seller asked.

The boy averted his gaze, going into disrespectful teenager mode; anything to get this chap to shut his mug, and ignore him. It was essential.

"Eh, mate, I asked you a question." The boy still didn't answer, crossing his arms, and pulling his cap over his eyes. "Eh, kids." The food seller turned his back and went back to trying to get folks to buy something. The boy cocked his cap, reaching his hand back, and carefully grabbing the meat. He placed it in the pocket of his trench with the same practiced ease, before walking slowly towards the church. _Eh, well would ya lookit that?_ The lad noticed our young Kurtis curled up on the stoop, asleep. He took in his ratted appearance, thoughtful. "Eh, mate wake up!" He shook the younger boy.

Kurt opened his eyes sleepily. His eyes widened as he saw the older boy. "Hello." He stood. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get in the way. I just needed somewhere to sleep…"

The older boy chuckled, patting Kurt jovially on the back. "No apologies necessary mate. I don't know anything about this old place anyway. What's your name **covey**?"

Kurt was taken aback. He thought that he would get in trouble, but this kid seemed to actually care. "Um… Kurtis, Kurtis Twist." He gaped as the older boy helped him to his feet.

"Nice to meet ya Kurtis. The names Blaine Anderson, but me closest mates call me Dodger… the Artful Dodger."

"Why are you called that?" Kurt asked, following Blaine to the food stand.

Blaine pulled his coat open revealing a piece of meat and an apple in the pockets. "That's why." Blaine looked down at Kurt, who was eyeing the food. Blaine discreetly snatched another apple handing it to the boy with a wink.  
>"Thank you Sir." Kurt said.<p>

"You ain't from 'round 'ere are ya?" Blaine asked.

Kurt shook his head, not meeting Blaine's eyes.

"You got lodgings, money?"

Another shake of the head.

"Well then Mate, you're in luck. I just happen to know an old coot who would take ya in. He's a bit crazy, but there's plenty o' grub, and it'll be 'ome. Whatta ya say?"

Kurt looked up, thinking. _What do I have to lose? _He'd be no worse off than he was now, and it'd be a roof over his head. "That would be nice. Thanks Blaine."

Blaine held out his hand. "Great. Stay close mate."

Blaine ducked from side to side in an alley, Kurt following. The smaller boy got knocked about so much that he almost lost sight of Blaine, but Blaine would always be waiting at the end of a throng, holding out his hand to pull Kurt through. The two boys stopped at a door. The Dodger knocked. A peephole was opened. Blaine produced a whistle, two low notes.

"What's the score?" The eyes at the door inquired.

"God dammit Sammy, **Plummy and Slam**. Just open the bloody door." Blaine laughed.

"Sorry there Dodge." The door opened revealing a boy with messy blond hair, and dirt decorating his face. He looked no more than eleven. "Goolsby be getting more par'noid. Who's the kid?"

"New pal. Kurtis Twist." Blaine said.

"I can introduce myself just fine." Kurt said. "Kurt. Nice to meet you."

"Sam." The boy held his hand out, which Kurt grasped.

"Now if ya be excusin' us Sammy, I gotta introduce our new pal to Goolsby."

Blaine dragged Kurt up a flight of creaky stairs. "Goolsby! Goolsby, show your face!" Blaine knocked on a door atop the stairs and barged in.

_He could've waited._ Kurt thought.

"Well, if it ain't the Dodger!" A voice exclaimed. Kurt followed the voice and saw a man sitting sidesaddle in a chair. He had dark brown hair and blue eyes that just pierced him straight through. "Who's this? A new member of the team?"

"This is Kurtis…" Kurt silenced him by putting up his hand.

"Just Kurt please."

"A'right. Kurt Twist." Blaine said.

"Well hello dear, will ya be joinin' us then?"

"I… guess so."

"Welcome to the family m'boy." Goolsby patted Kurt on the shoulder, before retreating down the stairs.

Blaine waited before dragging Kurt down those same stairs, and towards a group of ragtag kids, who immediately went wild.

"Who's this Dodge? He gonna be with us now or what?"

"The hell Dodge? Why didn't ya tell us?"

"Did ya get any grub or just this mite?"

"Eh! Step back, give 'im some air!" Blaine yelled. "Yes, yes and yes I did." He pulled back his trench pulling out the random food items.

The kids around him went wide eyed. "Glory Dodge, how'd ya manage that?"

Blaine smirked. "They don't call me the Artful One for nothing mates."

While this exchange was going on, Sam had crept up behind Kurt, and subtly went through his pockets, as was the nature of the art, upon Goolsby's request. He pulled out the locket and the ancient key, and pocketed them. Goolsby would be interested in this. And all this our young Kurtis never knew.

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed. Now some definitions. Covey is just another word for pal, friend, mate etc... Plummy and Slam is the password Fagin's gang used for entrance in Dickens' book Oliver Twist. I couldn't think of anything else. Coming up next chapter: Kurt gets to know the gang, and how they really get all they need. What did you guys think of Blaine and Sam? Was my accent awful? Any suggestions for the next chapter? R&R **


	4. Chapter 4: Of Pals and Pickpockets

**A/N: Hello again. Here's the next chapter. In this chapter, Kurt learns more about the gang. This chapter was fun to write, and it may be weird, but I swear there's a method to my madness. Still don't own anything. Enjoy!**

**Chapter Four: Of Pals and Pickpockets**

"Alright dears, come along." Goolsby called the group to the table, if one could even call it that. It was more the group sitting in a circle as they attacked the food. The 'table' was a plank of wood. Kurt had never seen so much food in one place before, so he began the only way he knew how.

He folded his hands and bowed his head. This received stares from everyone at the table. "Eh, Kurt what're ya doing?" Blaine asked.

"Ain't it obvious Dodge?" Sam asked with a smirk. "He be thankin' the good Lord."

"That's positively green." A girl at the table laughed. She couldn't be any older than Sam. She looked younger than Kurt, but not by much.

"Cut it out mates. We don't wanna be bad comp'ny." Blaine said, but a barely visible smirk was on his lips as well.

"C'mon Dodge, you know you wanna laugh." The girl teased.

"I be wonderin' if you be an old **codger** sometimes Dodge." Sam said. "The way you're prancing about."

"Cheeky…" Blaine rolled his eyes.

"Tina, Sam, Dodger calm down now." Goolsby chuckled. "If the lad wants to pray, we let 'im _without _bein' rude." Goolsby tried to calm them down, but he, too was clearly amused.

Kurt lifted his head, and unclasped his hands before looking at Goolsby. "May I…"

Goolsby looked puzzled, before finally comprehending. "Oh of course dear. Just help yourself."

"Ya don't have to ask mate." Sam said. "Where'd ya come from anyway, having to ask and pray?"

"Sammy shut your mug." Blaine elbowed. Sam mouthed _green, _before going back to his food.

Kurt looked up, confused. "What did I do?"

Tina patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry 'bout them sweetie. They 'ave no manners."

"You're one to talk." Sam said.

"Shut your trap." Tina smiled as she spoke, making the remark all the more puzzling to Kurt.

_They sure are a strange bunch._

* * *

><p>"A'right dearies, five minutes and then we'll show Kurt 'ere our favorite game." Goolsby said. He walked away, leaving the kids alone.<p>

"So what's your story pal?" Blaine asked, jumping onto an old ratty sofa, and motioning for Kurt to join him.

Kurt shrugged, unsure of how much to tell, but Blaine seemed nice enough. "I ran away. I'm tryin' to find my family."

Blaine laughed, wrapping a playful arm around the younger lad. "Well ya found 'em mate. We're your fam'ly," Seeing the boy's expression he added quickly "if you be lettin' us."

"I guess so…" Kurt replied.

"Brilliant. Well some introductions I believe are in order."

"Ya already met Sammy o'er there. He be a bit rough cut, but he's a real good chap to have with ya in a pinch. Loyal as a pup."

Kurt looked around, noticing the boy next to Sam, he spoke. "Who's he?"

"That bloke is Finn. 'Im and Sammy be inseperable. He's our resident franken-teen. A big teddy bear he is. Nicer chap you'll never meet. He ain't the smartest in the bunch, but once he knows you, he be there for ya no matter what."

Kurt turned as someone walked in. Goolsby. "Dodger, get the others ready."

"Make sure you're watchin' mate." Blaine said as he walked away to get the others so they could start their game.

The 'game' had a few components to it. For one, a long coat. Goolsby always put a long trench on, similar to what gentlemen around London wore. He didn't want it to be an obstacle to the kiddies after all. They had to know how to find their way around so to speak. For another, a tobacco pipe, purely for effect, along with a gentleman's hat. Another component that was essential was knick knacks, lots of them. The kids had to know how to dig for the good stuff, no matter what; Pocketbooks, watches, pocket hankies and the like. The final components, a cane and a gruff attitude. Let the game begin.

Kurt watched as the scene unfolded. Goolsby paced back and forth, grumbling like an old man as Sammy and Finn snuck behind him. Goolsby whirled yelling obscenely, as Blaine walked onto the scene. He turned Goolsby around, putting a hand around his shoulder. Kurt watched as Blaine's hand crept closer and closer to the man's waist pocket. He pulled out a pocket hankie and snuck it to his own pocket, as Finn and Sammy grabbed treasures from his back pockets. Goolsby didn't even flinch. It didn't even appear that the man felt any of this going on. Kurt laughed, applauded and cheered them on as he watched. _Brilliant._

A child that hadn't grown up in Kurt's situation might see the wrongness of such a display up front. But Kurt hadn't been out in the world outside the parish for very long, and as such had no clue just how cruel the London streets really were, and how this silly game was truly a game of villains and thieves. He was truly a child, a simple minded child. He had not a clue that the boys and girls around him were not as trustworthy as they appeared, nice maybe, trustworthy not. Every lad for himself as the old saying goes. Kurtis Twist would learn soon enough.

**A/N: I know you may be confused, considering Kurt's an Atheist; I wanted to stay as close to both Charles Dickens and the Glee characters, but in the book, and the version of the film I watched, they prayed before meals, and I needed to give the gang another reason to tease Kurt a little bit. Don't hate me for it. Hope you enjoyed! Oh by the way, here's another definition. Codger: An eccentric fellow, or in context of the way Sam used it, an old man.**


	5. Chapter 5: Consider Yourself One of Us

**A/N: Hello all. How's it going? This next chapter was really fun to write, and just a quick note. Artie isn't in a wheelchair in this fic. Some background of the Artful One in this chapter, along with so many other things. Hope you enjoy and R&R. I need some more feedback to keep going. I want to know what you guys think. Enjoy!**

**Chapter Five: Consider Yourself One of Us**

Kurt sat with Tina in the old house. Goolsby had sent Blaine, Sam and Finn on an 'errand' as he called it, leaving Kurt alone with Tina, Goolsby and a bunch of others he didn't know.

"Oi, Twist, you know how to play snap?" Tina asked.

"No." Kurt replied.

"Ya wanna learn?"

"Sure."

"Ok, here's whatcha do…." Tina dealt the cards as she explained the rules. Another boy noticed them setting up and walked over.

"Mind if I join mates?"

Tina looked at the boy. "Course. Kurt, this here's Artie. Artie, Kurt."

"Good to meet you."

Kurt nodded feeling kind of shy. The game began, and Kurt caught on quickly.

Four matches later the Dodger, Finn and Sam walked in.

"Snap!" Kurt shouted, feeling quite smug.

"Well then… having fun there mate?" Blaine asked.

Kurt nodded. "I can't believe what I've been missing. I had a really good time. Tina showed me how to play snap, and then I won two games in a row."

Blaine cast a knowing look at Tina. She always knew how to get the new lads to have fun, despite being relatively new to the group herself. _Quite a miracle worker she is._

"The lad's got the making of the new champ. Could give ya a run for your money there Sammy." Tina said. "You up for a challenge?"

"I be up for a match or two." Sam smirked. "I ain't bout to give me up me crown so easy."

"Eh Dodge, a word if ya don't mind." Dodger saw Goolsby appear at the top of the steps.

Blaine looked back at the group. No one noticed his departure to Goolsby's study, except one.

"Do ya think the boy be ready soon?" Blaine asked.

"He seems to be a good fit. Ya got 'im exactly where ya need him. He be lookin' up to you. We just gotta make sure he don't stray."

"Won't be a problem gov'na." Blaine bowed slightly, cockily as he exited Goolsby's study.

He was cocky, haughty and positively annoyingly devious, but the Artful One was clever, and that is why Goolsby took special care in crafting his apprentice to remain so. Loyalty was essential, and Dodger was. The younger ones followed him brilliantly, and never questioned. Though Blaine Anderson was only fourteen years old, he carried himself in a way that ensured his survival, which meant no attachments, no loyalty to anyone but himself. Sure he did a good job of acting as though he cared, but he only cared to survive.

"Dodge, what did Goolsby want?" Sam pulled his mate aside, intent on getting the full story.

"I ain't 'lowed to say."

"C'mon Blaine, you can trust me mate."

Blaine bristled. "Don't call me that!"

"Seriously, you gotta get o'er that. That be the first name you gave Twist, and you 'spect us not to use it?"

Sam had a point, the Dodger had to admit, but he had gotten used to being the Dodger, and to hear his old moniker come out of his best mate's mouth hit a sore spot.

"Ya ain't gon' give it up are ya?" Blaine asked.

"Dodge, we been best mates since ya brought me 'ere, and when 'ave I ever given somethin' up?" He smirked.

"A'right. I'll tell ya." Blaine cupped his hand over Sam's ear.

"Do ya think he's right Dodge? He's just so green. How can he be ready?"

"What, ya don't trust me?"

Sam squirmed. "Well… course I do but…"

"Leave it to me." Blaine patted Sam on the shoulder, leaving the younger boy alone.

Kurt looked around. This place sure was odd. It was a mess. Pocket handkerchiefs were strung about the room, hanging on lines erratically. _Are they a laundry house? _He didn't know, but he had half a mind to find out. He saw the Dodger coming, and smiled. _I'll ask him_

"Ello mate! How're ya doin'?" Blaine looped an arm around the younger boy's shoulder.

"What's goin' on with this place Mr. Dodger?" Kurt asked. "Are ya guys a laundry house?"

"Not exactly me Flash Companion? Do ya remember the game we showed ya earlier?"

"The one where you were pulling things from Mr. Goolsby's pockets?"

"Right on mate. Well, we go out and play the game 'round the town. I's be wonderin' if you ready to try?"

"Oh really Mr. Dodger, you mean it?"

Blaine cuffed Kurt in the back of the head. "Course I mean it. But first we got's to try somethin'." Blaine yanked one of the hankies off the line, and placed it in his trench, turning his back as he did so. "Twist, listen good. Try to nab that hankie without me feelin'. Be quick about it."

"But…"

"Shut your trap and just do it." Blaine said, before turning back around.

Kurt shook his head. This sure was crazy, pure madness, but he _was_ going to do it. He needed a place with them. He needed to belong somewhere. Kurt stuck to Blaine like glue, as he was talking to Sam, Kurt was there, quiet as a mouse. He followed close, the way Dodge and Sam had with Goolsby. He stuck his hand out, reaching ever so gently, and gripped it. He pulled, yanking the kerchief. The force of him pulling launched him back, onto the floor.

Dodger turned. "Is it out?"

Kurt held up the hankie, laughing to himself, as Blaine and Sam ran over to help him. "Good show. Didn't know you had it in ya Twist." Sam said.

"Me either." Kurt replied.

"Don't go celebratin' just yet lads. Ya still need to do it once more." Blaine said.

"I can." Kurt said.

"Do what?" Goolsby came down the steps. Kurt saw a kerchief sticking out of his pocket. He could do it again.

Blaine saw Kurt's expression change, and allowed a small, barely visible laugh to cross his face. _If 'E snitches from Goolsby, I may just laugh out loud. _"Go for it mate." He whispered.

"Goolsby, I dunno if he be ready yet." Dodger sauntered up to the older man. It was the perfect set up.

"Well why ain't he Dodge?" As Blaine explained, Kurt snuck behind the chair, eyeing the dingy white silk hanging from Goolsby's pocket. He got a gentle grip on the silk, and yanked, carefully this time so as not to fall. He smiled as he saw the handkerchief slide out with ease; Goolsby not so much as flinched. He crawled carefully away, hiding the kerchief in his back pocket. Sam gave him an impressed glance.

Goolsby felt in his back pocket, and noticing that his pocket handkerchief was missing, stood. "Well, who did it?"

Nobody moved, nobody said a word. They were all waiting, even the Dodger who should've been the first to **peach** was silent, until Kurt stepped forward holding up the handkerchief. "I…It was me Mr. Goolsby Sir."

Goolsby beamed. "Well, m'boy, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"I really want to go with Dodger and the others. I'm really good too. Please Sir."

"It be up to Dodge. And we 'ave to be waitin a day or two." Goolsby said, thoughtfully.

"The lad 'as skill, clearly, and he be a real addition. I say we let 'im." Sammy said. "Dodge, whatcha think?"

Kurt looked at Blaine expectantly. "We don' need amateurs muckin' up the business." Kurt's face fell, until Blaine continued. "'E ain't no amateur."

Kurt nearly burst into the older boy's arms, taking all by surprise. "Thank you! Thank you!" Blaine looked shocked; his other mates may've mistaken it for anger, why even young Sammy rushed to the older boy's aid. At closer inspection though, it was clear he felt it as a compliment.

"Get off it." Dodger pushed the younger boy away, ruffling his hair. "This be only a test me Flash Companion."

"Consider yourself one of us Mate." Sammy patted Kurt on the back.

Kurt smiled as he handed Goolsby the pocket handkerchief. For the first time, he felt like he truly belonged.

**A/N: In case you were wondering, I did take the chapter title from Oliver! I'm going to try and add little elements of different songs, and parts of the different movie adaptations into this story. PM me if you have any questions or suggestions. More definitions now. Peaching is "Tattling, snitching, squealing; the worst thing one man can do to another." (Disney's Oliver Twist) **


	6. Chapter 6: The Business

**A/N: 'Ello Mates. I'm finally back! I got my muse back for this story and I hope to be updating more often if school permits. But I've delayed long enough, so without further ado I hand things over to our narrator. **

**Chapter Six: The Business **

Goolsby was a quiet man, a sentiment most likely attributed to circumstance. He had no real family, no one to take care of him in his old age, except for perhaps Jesse St. James. Jesse was the one to watch, the prodigal one of Goolsby's younger days, and the one that provided him with stability, at a price of course; and most notably the reason why he was at the ratty old pub at the twelfth hour.

"Eh, girl, is James in?"

The girl, a petite blond looked up from her tray. "He ain't 'ere yet Goolsby. Rachel's in there waiting for 'im."

Goolsby nodded, as he searched the path for that wretched beast. He heard a bark, and saw a shadow. He walked out to meet him, receiving an eye roll from the girl at the door. She walked into the pub to tell Rachel.

"'E's here dear." She said.

"Brilliant, thank you for telling me Quinn." Rachel balanced a tray in one hand, reaching for a glass of the brew. She placed it gently atop the tray, along with a hot bowl of soup.

"Eh, what do you got there Jesse m'dear?" Goolsby strolled up to the younger man.

"Plenty o' things Goolsby. Now where's the pay?" Jesse St. James was really a clever man, but he was greedy. Quite greedy.

"Well," Goolsby reached for the bundle. "I 'ave to appraise 'em first m'dear."

"Oh no you don't!" Jesse pulled his hand back. "I take me pay up front."

"Tomorrow m'boy; you 'ave my word."

"Your word ain't good enough." Jesse whispered, but he nonetheless handed over the bundle. There was no arguing with Goolsby, at least not here. "Rachel will be o'er to pick it up tomorrow."

"Brilliant m'dear." Goolsby turned and headed up the road away from the pub and towards his hovel.

_**Clink! Clink!**_ "Huh…" Kurt sat up wearily. He was tired, but with so much noise, it was impossible to stay asleep for long. Kurt stood up and made his way to where the noise was coming from, careful not to step on any of the others who were spread out in various parts of the room.

Goolsby sat in the room, with an open lockbox on his lap. Kurt saw various shiny things and most noticeably. "My locket!" Kurt nearly shouted, then clapped a hand over his mouth as Goolsby stood.

"What did you see?! How long have you been awake?!" The man jammed Kurt against the wall, keeping him pinned.

"I've only just waked Sir… I…I'm sorry."

Not exactly the truth, however not exactly a lie, but it seemed to satisfy Goolsby for he loosened his grip on Kurt. He stepped back, giving the lad much needed space. "Tell me dear, did you see any of those pretty things in that box o'er there?"

Kurt nodded. "Yes Sir I did."

Goolsby shook his head. "Those are my treasures. They be the only thing to support me in my old age. I'll be alone, for even me boys'll leave soon, get themselves in the **institution o' higher learnin** where they'll learn from the best." Goolsby seemed to be talking more to himself than to Kurt now, and he considered sneaking away, but he'd been scared a tiny bit by the older man's abruptness so he stayed where he was. "So ya see m'boy, these treasures be all I 'ave."

Kurt placed a tentative hand in the man's. "I won't leave you Mr. Goolsby."

"That's very sweet of you my dear. Off with ya now, big day o' learnin' tomorrow."

"Goodnight Sir." Kurt ran off to bed, sneaking one last look, albeit a sneaky one, at the lockbox where he now knew his locket lay.

Morrow came with the clear singing of the songbirds, and the loud racket of the children waking for a new day.

"Mornin mates." Blaine came out, donning his usual attire. A tall top hat rested atop his messy curls. He wore a suit that nearly reached his ankles, complete with an overly long coat. That cocky grin that branded him the Artful Dodger was in its usual place as well.

"Mornin' Dodge." Sam and Kurt were sitting at the table as the food came out.

"So ya excited Kurt?" Blaine asked.

Kurt nodded as he ate. "I just hope I don't mess up."

Blaine smirked. "Ya be getting' ahead o' yourself. All ya gotta do is watch, and I doubt that anyone be capable of mucking that."

"I can do that." Kurt laughed.

"Muck it or watch?" Sam asked.

"What do you think?" Kurt asked.

"You got me mate." Sam said. He held his hands up in surrender.

Breakfast was mainly uneventful, until there was a knock at the door. Goolsby went to answer. "Rachel m'dear! How are ya?"

"Fine Goolsby. 'Ello ev'ryone."

"Rachel!" Everyone stood up and went to say a hello; that is except for Kurt.

"Well, who's this?" Rachel asked.

"Kurt Twist." Kurt said with a slight bow. "Nice to meet you Miss Rachel."

"Ain't ya the little gentleman?"

Blaine scoffed, earning a glare from Rachel. "What? Manners get ya nowhere."

"Contrary to your beliefs Dodge, they actually do." Rachel said with a laugh. "Don't mind 'im. He ain't got none." Rachel turned to Goolsby and began talking in a hushed tone, leaving the boys to themselves.

"Well, what brings ya here Rachel m'dear?" Goolsby asked.

"Ya know quite well what." Rachel replied. "Now pay up Goolsby!" She held her palm out waiting for the money.

Goolsby grabbed a pocketbook counting out four coins. Rachel cocked her head. "C'mon, don't be a cheat." Goolsby sighed before producing another handful of coins and handing it to the girl. "Much better. Thank you."

Rachel walked towards the door. "Goodbye all. Nice meeting you Kurt." She opened the door and left the gang to themselves.

Goolsby walked over. "Get to work!"

The boys scattered, Dodger grabbing Kurt's hand and dragging him out the door with Sam on his heels.

"Where are we goin'?" Kurt asked.

"The square mate." Sam replied.

"Best place for the game as ever." Dodger grinned. "Lotsa people. Plenty to pick from. Now make sure you be watchin' mate."

Blaine and Sam slinked off. Kurt watched, curiously. A lady and a gentleman walked up, and Sam went over. He grabbed the woman's skirts, causing a right fuss.

"Eh! Eh! Be off with ya!" Blaine came onto the scene. "They don't want to be bothered with the likes of' you." He shooed Sam off who ran near to where Kurt was standing, hiding himself pretty well behind a building. Kurt noticed as he spoke, his hand slid into the man's waist pocket, pulling out a pocketbook.

Kurt continued to watch as the woman sobbed, holding a kerchief up to her nose. "Oh, thank you! Thank you!"

"Thank you young man." The gentleman said. "A penny for your trouble."

"No trouble at all Sir. Thank you Sir." Blaine took the penny, and walked in a general direction opposite of the man and woman's. When he was sure they were gone, he ran towards where Kurt and Sam were hidden. "Good show mate." He clapped Sam's shoulder. "Were ya watchin' Twist?"

Kurt nodded. "Yes Mr. Dodger, I saw everything."

"Blimey, did ya see the way that lady looked at us." Blaine grabbed his mates and started walking toward the ice stand. "She be holdin' her hankie up to her nose as if she could smell us. Couldn't wait for us to be gone I bet."

"I'll see ya later Dodge." Sam ran off in another direction, probably to do some solo work.

The two boys sat on the church stoop of their first meeting, enjoying their ices and some chatter.

"So Twist?" Blaine asked. "What ya think?"

"Thank you Mr. Dodger. This was a great time. Mr. Dodger, Goolsby's been real nice and so have you." The boy hesitated. "We're friends aren't we?"

Dodger bit his lip. "Goolsby ain't nice 'less there's something in it for 'im." He rolled his eyes, before getting serious. "Eh Twist, lemme tell ya something 'bout friends. A friend be an enemy in disguise."

"What're you talkin' 'bout?"

"You can't trust nobody mate, no one but yourself. Even a best mate becomes an enemy eventually. Ya followin'?" He had to make sure Kurt understood this. The boy trusted blindly, especially when it came to him and Goolsby, and there was no worse quality for anyone in a business like this.

"I…I think so."

"Good show mate. " Blaine clapped Kurt on the shoulder before jumping off the stoop. "C'mon now. Goolsby be worryin if we don't get 'ome soon."

From then on, Kurt went with the Dodger on every job. Each time, he learned something new. He had still not picked a pocket though. Each time he asked Dodge, the reply was the same. "More education you be needin'." Kurt was sick of it, so he talked to Goolsby.

"I wanna try it. Please Sir. I've been here long enough!"

The man peeked over his desk at Kurt. "So you think you be ready eh?"

Kurt nodded. "I am. I've been watching everything." He jumped from foot to foot itching to get approval.

"It's been two months. I don't see why ya wouldn't be ready." Goolsby said.

"Thank you Sir." Kurt turned and left the room, leaving the older man alone.

The lad had potential, that much Goolsby knew, but he did seem very green. Loyalty would be a problem.

"Mr. Dodger, guess what?" Kurt ran down the stairs, nearly bumping into the teenager.

"Where ya be off to in such a rush covey?" Blaine got a hold of the boy by his shirt.

"Mr. Goolsby says I can actually do a job tomorrow. Isn't that great?"

"Brilliant." Blaine said. "Get some sleep now mate."

"Goodnight Dodger." Kurt said.

"Goodnight Kurt."

As Kurt tucked himself in for the night, he couldn't help thinking that he had been mighty lucky to have been found by the Dodger, and to be learning so much; but many things were about to change, and countless lines blurred. The true test was about to begin.

**A/N: Well I hope you've enjoyed. Definitions time. Institution o' Higher Learnin' is the big house. The slammer, jail. R&R. Virtual cookies for all who review. **


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